


Five Times Steve Rogers Sang (And One Time He Didn't)

by celtic7irish



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:59:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five instances where Steve Rogers sang.  And one time where he didn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Steve Rogers Sang (And One Time He Didn't)

** Five Times Steve Rogers Sang **

** (And One Time He Didn’t) **

**Song One**

 

The first time that Steve Rogers ever sang, that he could remember, was when he was eight years old.  His mother had gotten sick – the first in a long string of illnesses that would eventually lead to her death – and Steve was nearly frantic with worry.  Bucky had brought over some medicine, and then stayed and helped Steve warm the small apartment and prepare tea and soup.  They didn’t have much, but Steve did what he could, and his mother smiled at him, causing him to flush with pleasure.

 

His mother rested uneasily between bouts of coughing, shivering under the blankets.  Steve hovered worriedly, determined to help his mother get better, despite the fact that she kept telling him that she’d be fine, and that he should be careful so he didn’t get sick, too, because then Bucky would have to take care of them both.

 

Watching his mother toss about in her sleep, Steve soon found himself humming, one of the many lullabies that his mother had often sung to him when he’d been bed-ridden with fever and cough.  It was an old song, the tune soothing and familiar, and his young voice was a bit higher-pitched than his mother’s softer baritone, but the words were steady as he sang, blue eyes never leaving the woman on the bed.

 

His mother calmed in her sleep, and Steve smiled to see it.  And when she was awoken by another fit of coughing and vomiting, Steve rubbed her back and held her hair and sang soothing lullabies and half-remembered songs from his rare trips through the park, where some sort of music was always playing.  And his mother smiled at him.

 

Sometimes Bucky would be there as well, making sure that Steve didn’t make himself sick from the stress of caring for his mother.  On those nights, Steve’s best friend would stand in the doorway, or sit in the hallway right outside, careful not to intrude.  Steve had been embarrassed the first time he’d caught the other boy listening to him sing to his mother, but Bucky had just smiled at him and told him that he was sure the song would help Missus Rogers.  And so Steve had swallowed his embarrassment and gone back to his mother’s bedside, one pale hand stroking his mother’s face, checking for fever as she’d so often done for him.

 

The last time Steve’s mother fell ill, Steve himself was bedridden with pneumonia, too weak and exhausted to notice his mother’s condition.  He didn’t sing, and his mother died less than a fortnight later.

 

There were songs at her funeral, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to sing along, couldn’t bring himself to even open his mouth.  His mother was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.  He’d never get the chance to sing for her again, to see that gentle, loving smile she always gave him when he sang for her, no matter how badly off-key he was.

 

Steve stopped singing.

 

**Song Two**

Steve was drawing again, humming lowly under his breath as he sketched just off the stage, shading in a monkey on a unicycle.  He was absorbed enough in his drawing that he didn’t even notice the other person approaching him, his super-soldier hearing notwithstanding.

 

“I don’t know that song,” Peggy said, her voice quietly unassuming as he sat next to him, glancing at the drawing but not commenting.  Steve was grateful for her tact.

 

He shrugged, flipping the notebook closed.  He’d finish drawing later…or not.  “It’s just something I heard the kids singing in town,” he mumbled softly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at having been caught humming a children’s song.

 

Peggy smiled at him sweetly.  “It has a beautiful melody,” she commented.  “I don’t suppose you know the words?”

 

Steve looked at her uncertainly from the corner of his eye, but she just waited patiently, her expression open and relaxed.  She wasn’t mocking him.  Steve felt his skin flush hotter in mortification for having thought something so cruel of her.  Peggy was a sweet gal, and even though Steve was horrible with women in general, she had never once made him feel awkward.

 

Biting his lower lip and ducking his head, he nodded.  Peggy hummed under her breath for a moment, then reached out and laid a slender hand on his forearm.  Steve stared at that hand and nearly missed the fact that Peggy was asking him a question.  “Would you sing it for me?” she asked.

 

Steve looked up, frowning.  “Uh…sure?” he said, uncertain.  “But it’s a children’s song,” he pointed out needlessly.

 

Peggy laughed, but it wasn’t cruel laughter, and Steve felt his lips twitch upwards in reply.  “Oh, I know,” Peggy agreed, giving a quiet sigh.  “Back home, there were a lot of children on my street,” she admitted pensively.  “They used to sing songs like that.”  Her gaze had grown wistfully.

 

Shaking off her melancholy, Peggy turned to him with a bright smile.  “Please?” she asked.

 

Steve swallowed, intensely aware of her gaze on the side of his face, of her hand still resting on his arm, of her body, so very close to his that he could nearly feel the heat radiating from her.  Wordlessly, he nodded, opening his mouth and starting to sing.  _“Backe, backe Kuchen, Der Bäcker hat gerufen! Wer will gute Kuchen backen, Der muss haben sieben Sachen:  Eier und Schmalz, Butter und Salz, Milch und Mehl, Safran macht den Kuchen gel'! Schieb in den Ofen 'rein. Morgen muss er fertig sein.”_  

 

It felt odd to be singing a children’s song in the native tongue, while they fought a war on German soil, but Peggy was listening with rapt attention.  Steve finished the song, then fell silent.  It was a long moment before Peggy spoke again.

 

“That’s their version of Patty-Cake, isn’t it?” she asked softly, and Steve smiled at her; she had recognized the words.

 

“I believe so,” he agreed, though he was actually less familiar with the English version, since he had never really been allowed to play with the other kids in the neighborhood; the risk of him catching a virus had been too high.

 

Peggy smiled brightly at him.  “Do you know of any others?” she asked, her voice eager and her eyes bright with excitement.  Steve blushed, but nodded.  Peggy started to speak again, no doubt to ask him to sing something else, when Colonel Phillips stepped around the corner.

 

“Captain Rogers! Agent Carter!” he barked.  “We’ve got a mission for you two, if you’re done fraternizing.”

 

Steve and Peggy both stood to attention.  Colonel Phillips gave them a sharp nod before stalking off, and the two friends relaxed.  Peggy turned to smile up at him.  “Later?” she asked.

 

“Later,” Steve agreed, secretly glad for the interruption.  He only knew one or two more songs, and the embarrassment was quickly catching up to him.

 

Steve strode off towards the War Tent, already making plans, while Peggy headed off to her service station to get an update on the situation.  When they next met, Steve would sing her something nicer.

 

A love ballad, perhaps.

 

**Song Three**

When Steve found Bucky in Hydra’s clutches, he thought his heart would stop.  Bucky was far too still, his skin pale and cold to the touch.  At first, Steve had been terrified that he’d been too late, that Bucky was dead, like his mother had been, succumbing to the torture or experimentation or whatever it was that had been done to him.

 

But he had made it in time, and Bucky was alive, if a bit more skittish than before.  There was anger there, too, underneath the fear, and Steve hoped that in time, the anger at what had been done to him and his fellow soldiers would give the other man strength.

 

In the meantime, though, Steve would watch over his best friend.  Erskine’s serum had worked, and he wasn’t the scrawny, sick little boy that he had been.  He was strong and healthy, and vowed to use the gift he’d been given to protect the others, to fight the war that he’d so badly wanted to join.

 

Steve could fight against Hydra, could stalk into a base and tear it down, wipe out the enemy forces.  But he couldn’t fight against the nightmares, the ones that made Bucky toss and turn, moaning in remembered pain before bolting upright, a startled whimper or strangled scream wrung from his throat, his eyes wide and dark, utterly terrified.

 

Steve didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help his friend.  When Bucky would startle awake in the night, he’d already be up, having been alerted to his friend’s restless movements.  He’d talk to Bucky, his voice low and comforting.  But the last time Bucky had seen him, he’d still been the scrawny little scrapper from Brooklyn, and that messed with his head, made it so that he didn’t recognize Steve half the time when he woke from a nightmare, only to find a virtual stranger in his tent, broad-shouldered and strong.

 

One night, Bucky had caught on quicker, had realized where he was and who Steve was, had managed to calm down, had allowed Steve to wrap him in a hug.  “Sing to me, Stevie,” he’d murmured then, his voice so quiet that only Steve’s super-soldier hearing allowed him to catch the words at all.  Steve had swallowed convulsively, his mind instinctively recoiling from the very idea.  But his desire to help Bucky was stronger, and so he picked through his memories, trying to find something that he could use, a song or a handful of lyrics that would remind Bucky of home, of Brooklyn, of Steve. Something that would let him know he was safe.

 

His voice wobbling uncertainly, but growing stronger as he continued, Steve sang for his friend.  He sang anything he could think of, even if he couldn’t remember most of the lyrics, settling for humming when he lost the words.  Steve’s deep baritone rumbled out half-remembered alma maters and drinking songs from the pubs they had frequented.  It helped, at least a little.

 

A few weeks later, he tentatively tried singing one of the lullabies he’d sung to his mother.  Bucky, who had been twisting restlessly a moment earlier, settled down almost immediately, his expression smoothing out as the nightmares faded.  Steve watched his friend closely, but Bucky didn’t stir again.  Steve sang until his voice was hoarse, until the sun was rising above the trees surrounding their camp.

 

That day, Bucky followed him into the enemy fortress and took out their enemies, fighting ferociously by his side.  And when it was done – when the base had fallen – Bucky had smiled at him with a fierce pride.

 

The two friends never spoke of that night, but from then on, whenever Bucky would start writhing on his cot or in his bedroll, Steve would sing.  And Bucky would either settle back down, or he’d wake up, but he’d calm down almost immediately, sometimes even going so far as to hum along quietly to whatever song Steve was singing.

 

The night before their wild chase through the mountains, Bucky had spoken.  “Stevie?” he’d asked.  “Would you…sing for me?  That song you used to sing to your mum?”  His dark eyes had been earnest, and Steve had swallowed, his breath shuddering out from him.  A stone weight settled in the pit of his stomach, and Steve was about to refuse, but he paused at the last moment, studying Bucky’s open, pleading face.  Bucky wouldn’t beg, but it was obvious that whatever had driven him to ask for that particular song was bothering him, strongly.

 

Steve swallowed his objections.  “Sure, Buck,” he agreed gruffly, his eyes dropping to look at his hands where they were clenched together on his lap.  Bucky settled in for the night as Steve’s voice rose quietly, stumbling occasionally over the words as he fumbled, his throat squeezing shut.  Bucky didn’t stop him, or laugh, or do anything, really.  He just watched him with those dark eyes.

 

Finally, Bucky’s eyes closed.  Steve sang for a short while longer, just to make sure that Bucky really was asleep, then let his voice trail off.  He stayed awake that night while Bucky slept.  This time, there were no nightmares to torment his best friend.

 

The next day, the Howling Commandos tracked down Arnim Zola.  In the ensuing battle, Bucky was thrown from the train and dropped into an icy ravine.  Steve was powerless to save him and could only watch as his best friend – his idiotic, reckless, _brave_ protector – fell.  Words caught in his throat, only one making it past his lips.

 

“Bucky!”

 

**Song Four**

Steve hovered uneasily in the doorway, watching the woman he’d once loved smile at Tony Stark.  He had been surprised when he’d realized that Peggy had helped to found SHIELD alongside Howard Stark, and had therefore been at least a small part of Tony’s childhood.

 

Tony was smiling brightly at her, chattering away at ten miles per hour, but it hardly mattered.  Peggy was just nodding along, smiling at Tony’s excited babble, obviously just as carried away by it as Steve often was.

 

When the genius stopped talking, glancing over at Steve, who was still standing self-consciously in the doorway, Peggy followed his gaze, confused eyes landing on him.  “Who’s this, Anthony?” she asked lightly.  “A friend of yours?”

 

Tony shrugged.  “Yeah, sort of,” he replied.  “This is Steve.”  Now that he had the attention of both people in the room, Steve stepped further into the room, swallowing heavily.  Peggy smiled at him politely, but there was no recognition there this time.

 

“I knew someone named Steve once,” she said, her eyes going distant as she reminisced.  “He sang me a lovely song one day, before that old man Phillips interrupted.”  She sighed heavily, her eyes tearing up.  “I never got a chance to hear him sing after that one time,” she mourned softly.  Tony’s piercing eyes glanced sharply at him, but Steve was careful not to meet his gaze. 

 

Peggy chuckled.  “He stood me up, too,” she added with fond amusement.  “I was going to teach him how to dance.”  Her eyes sharpened a bit as she looked up at Steve, where he stood near her bed.  “Do you know how to dance?” she asked.

 

Steve shook his head, offering her a soft, sad smile.  “No, ma’am,” he replied.  “I’m afraid I never learned.”  He had brought the plane down in the water before he’d had a chance to take Peggy out on that date he’d promised her, and since waking up, he’d been too busy to bother.  Besides, who would teach him?  Natasha? Or Pepper, perhaps?

 

Peggy looked at him sympathetically.  “That’s all right, dear,” she reassured him, sounding motherly.  Tony made a choked sound, grinning like an idiot.  Steve glared, and Peggy shushed the genius.  Tony gave her an affectionate peck on one weathered cheek in apology.

 

“Don’t worry yourself, Aunt Peggy, I’ll make sure he learns to manage a proper waltz, at the very least,” Tony promised.  Steve’s vision blurred momentarily at the thought of never getting in that one dance with Peggy.  She didn’t even recognize him most of the time anymore.   Of course, she sometimes confused Tony with Howard, but at least she knew he was a Stark.  Steve Rogers, on the other hand, had died over seventy years ago.

 

Steve didn’t even realize he’d started humming a long-forgotten tune until Peggy gasped, staring at him wide-eyed.  “That song…do you know the words?” she demanded.

 

Steve paused, frowning.  What had he been - ? Oh!  Of course.  The only song that Steve Rogers had ever sung to Peggy Carter before his supposed death. 

 

Biting his lip, Steve thought for a moment before starting again, using words this time, the words stuttering out of him as he picked his way through them.  That day might not have seemed very long ago to him, but he still had to think about it.  He’d only heard the children singing it the one time, after all.  _“Backe, backe Kuchen, Der Bäcker hat gerufen! Wer will gute Kuchen backen, Der muss haben sieben Sachen:  Eier und Schmalz, Butter und Salz, Milch und Mehl, Safran macht den Kuchen gel'! Schieb in den Ofen 'rein. Morgen muss er fertig sein.”_  

 

Peggy was pressing her fingers over her mouth, her eyes clear as tears dripped down her cheeks.  “Steve?” she whispered, and the sound of it nearly broke his heart.  Again.

 

“Yeah, Peggy.  It’s me,” he answered, offering her a watery smile.  Peggy gave a cry of surprise and sorrow, reaching out to him with shaking hands.

 

Stepping forward, Steve clasped her aged hands gently in his own, then folded her into a warm embrace, settling himself on the edge of her bed while she wept.  He pressed his own tears into her silver hair, holding her carefully, as tightly as he dared, while the two of them mourned for what had been lost and rejoiced in their meeting.

 

Neither of them noticed Tony when he left.

**Song Five**

 

The child whimpered as he curled into Steve’s chest, his grimy face streaked with tear marks, his arm held awkwardly against his chest in a makeshift sling.  The air around them was thick and suffocating, muted light peeking through the cracks in the rubble around them, casting pale streaks across the ground.  Steve’s hand cradled the back of the boy’s head, pressing his face into his chest, trying to shield him from the worst of the dust.

 

Steve’s body ached, bruised and scraped.  Fortunately, nothing seemed to be broken, and he’d heal quickly enough.  His uniform was a lost cause, torn in half a dozen places and missing the sleeves.  Coulson would be heart-broken.

 

Steve looked out across the rubble-strewn floor, his eyes adjusting easily to the gloom.  He didn’t see his shield anywhere, and rather hoped it was outside, where one of the other Avengers would find it, would use it to extrapolate his relative position, trapped under what was left of the building.  Steve had seen the child as the building had come down, taken out by some sort of laser that had started shooting wildly when Thor had struck it with lightning.  The boy had been huddled in the doorway, watching the battle.  When the stone and brick structure had fallen, Steve hadn’t thought; he’d just reacted, throwing himself at the child, shielding him with his body and shield as the street below them cracked with concussive force.

 

When the dust had settled, and the thundering noise had abruptly fallen silent, Steve had checked on the child, who had been curled up in a fetal position, crying, his arm cradled in his other arm, held tightly to his chest, his knees drawn up as he cried for his mother.  Swallowing, Steve had very carefully coaxed the child into letting him tend to his arm, grimacing as he found the break.  He had talked to the boy – Daniel – carefully, asking him questions and reassuring him that his friends would be there soon, and that they’d find his family.  He used the sleeves of his uniform to build a sling, unconcerned about the loss.  Tony had been talking about making him a new uniform anyhow.

 

Steve had briefly contemplated trying to dig them out, but had realized that the young child would be in danger if the shifting caused anything to fall, or blocked off their air.  For now, everything seemed pretty settled, and the sounds of battled had cased.  Besides, he had been on the comms before the building had dropped on him, so the others should at least have a rough idea of his last known location.  So for now, he just comforted Daniel the best he could wand waited for his teammates to find them and dig them out.

 

Steve dropped his gaze to the top of the child’s head, one hand stroking through dark hair, at a loss as to how to comfort him.  He was hurt, scared, and separated from his parents.  Absently, he started to hum, a soft lullaby.  Slowly, Daniel’s sobs turned into the occasional sniffle, and the boy peered up at Steve through his bangs.

 

“What’s that song?” he asked quietly.

 

Steve stopped humming to smile at him and answer his question.  “It’s called Brahm’s lullaby.  Have you ever heard of it?”  Daniel shook his head, and Steve nodded.  “Not many people have,” he admitted with a rueful smile.

 

There was a loud clatter somewhere above them and to the right, and both heads snapped up, towards the sound.  “What’s that?” Daniel whispered, trembling again.

 

Steve heard another low clatter, followed by a very welcome voice.  “Cap! Please tell me you’re still alive down there, old man!  Because if you’re dead, I swear I’m going to donate your shield to the damn Smithsonian!”

 

He chuckled.  “Those are my friends,” he reassured the child.  “They’re going to get us out of here, okay?”  Daniel stared up at him with wide eyes, but nodded after a moment, and Steve grinned, lifting his head to shout out.  “Don’t you dare, Iron Man!”

 

There was a pause, followed the sound of a repulsor blast nearby.  Stones dropped from above them, stirring up dust again, and Steve grabbed Daniel, pressing him against his chest.  “Careful!” he scolded.  “I’ve got a child down here!”

 

He felt the space around him tremble for a moment, before a roar echoed downwards, followed by the sound of heavy boulders being tossed away.  Apparently the Hulk hadn’t changed back yet, and Tony had convinced him to help with the post-mission rescue.

 

Steve grinned down at the boy, who was staring up at him in awe, the pain of his broken arm momentarily forgotten at the realization that he was being rescued by the _Avengers_.  “We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy, son,” he promised, even as a bright beam of sunlight fell across them.  Looking up, Steve saw the others standing around the hole the Hulk had just made.  A moment later, Iron Man and Thor were dropping down next to them.

 

“Hey, kid.  We’ve got your parents waiting for you outside.  Ready to go?” he asked.  Daniel nodded, allowing Steve to shift him into the other man’s arms, warning him about the broken arm, even though it was obviously in a sling.  “Yeah, got it, Cap,” Tony replied, and Steve was pretty sure he was rolling his eyes behind the faceplate.  All the same, he handled the boy carefully as he took off, slowly ascending back up to street level.

 

Thor grinned at him.  “Captain! It is good to see you alive and well,” he rumbled.  “And you have been most heroic in your endeavors to save that child.”  Steve felt himself blush as he mumbled something inaudible back.  A moment later, Thor’s arm was wrapping around his waist.  Before he could protest that he could climb out himself now, they were being flung upwards.  Steve found himself clutching onto Thor’s shoulders as they hit the ground, then staggering backwards a moment later, when the thunderer released him.

 

The small boy, Daniel, was being hugged by a dark-haired woman, a blonde man standing next to them, one hand each on his son’s and wife’s shoulders.  He looked up at Steve as the soldier approached him.  “Captain America,” he said, smiling widely, his eyes damp.  “Thank you so much for protecting our son.”  His wife looked up and added her tearful thanks as well, and Steve smiled at them gently.

 

“Just doing my duty, sir.  Ma’am,” he acknowledged.  A moment later, a pair of thin arms was clinging to him, and Steve looked down.  “Daniel?” he asked, his hand reaching down to touch the boy’s head.

 

Daniel looked up at him.  “What’re the words?” he asked.  Steve looked at him in confusion, and he clarified.  “To Brahm’s Lullaby.  What are the words?”

 

Steve blinked.  Oh.  Kneeling down in front of the child as the medics ran towards them, he told him.

 

**One Time He Didn’t**

 

Steve was exhausted and covered in sweat.  He had just arrived at the Avengers Mansion – which Tony had given to them as a second base apart from the Tower – and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and about sixteen hours of sleep, though at this point, he’d settle for six.  The super soldier serum made it really hard to actually sleep in, even if he wanted to.

 

Still, he had one more thing to take care of before he could collapse in exhaustion.  “JARVIS?” he asked, his eyes glancing up towards the ceiling out of habit, despite Tony teasingly explaining that JARVIS did not reside in the ceiling, and never had.  “Where are the others?”

 

JARVIS answered promptly, perhaps already anticipating Steve’s ritual inquiry.  _“Doctor Banner is in the downstairs lab.  Agents Barton and Romanov were called out to SHIELD, but are expected to return within the next two hours.  Sir…is in the drawing room,”_ the AI replied, the brief hesitation hardly noticeable.

 

Steve frowned, his head turning in the direction of the drawing room.  He used it on occasion when he was in the mood to be alone and draw.  There was nothing in there except some furniture.  And a grand piano.  He shrugged to himself; perhaps Tony had simply been seeking solitude and had decided to use the room for that purpose.  It really wasn’t any of his business. He had only asked JARVIS because he liked to account for his team, to know that they were safe.  It was almost instinctive by this point.

 

As he drew closer to the drawing room on his way to a warm shower and comfortable bed, he heard the first strains of an unfamiliar tune.  Steve’s steps slowed, stopping in front of the large wooden doors, listening to the man playing on the other side.  He hadn’t even realized that Stark could play the piano.  Had Maria taught him?  Howard had always been far more interested in science and engineering than in the finer arts.  Tony had taken after him – even if he didn’t like to admit it – but in moments like this, Steve realized that the other man must have a lot of his mother in him, too.  He wished for a brief moment that he could have met Maria Stark back when she was still alive.  She must have been a remarkable woman, to have captured Howard’s interest and Tony’s love.

 

He stood there for a long moment, debating whether or not to enter.  Just as he decided to keep going, fully aware that Tony likely wouldn’t want Steve to actually catch him doing something as embarrassing as playing the piano, the music paused.  When it restarted, Tony joined in.  His voice was smooth and strong as he sang.

 

“He called her on the road, from a lonely cold hotel room, just to hear her say I love you one more time,” Tony crooned.  Steve froze, the words tugging sharply at him for all that they didn’t actually pertain to him.  The words obviously meant something to Tony, though.

 

Almost without conscious thought, Steve reached out and pushed the door open on silent hinges, pausing just inside the room as the door closed silently behind him.  Tony’s back was turned towards him as he sat on the bench in front of the grand piano that sat on the dais in the middle of the room, strong working fingers running smoothly across the keys.  It was obvious that Tony was an active pianist, and Steve wondered why it had taken so long for anyone to figure it out.

 

“I’m already there.  Take a look around.  I’m the sunshine in your hair, I’m the shadow on the ground.  I’m the whisper in the wind, I’m your imaginary friend.”  Tony’s voice was strong, making it apparent that he wasn’t aware yet that he had a captive audience.

 

Carefully, his exhaustion all but forgotten in the face of this new revelation, Steve moved around the room, until he was staring at Stark’s profile.  The genius had his eyes closed as he played, the tune obviously played often enough that he didn’t even have to watch what his fingers were doing.  His body swayed slightly with the music, and Steve wondered who he was singing to.  Pepper, perhaps?

 

Tony froze suddenly, the music coming to a jarring halt as his fingers hit the keys all at once, his eyes snapping open to pin Steve where he stood.  Tony tensed, his eyes narrowing.  “How long?” he demanded.

 

Steve didn’t even pretend to not know what Tony was asking.  “The end of the last one, and then this one,” he answered honestly.  He licked his lips, not sure how his next words would be received.  “I didn’t know you could play the piano,” he blurted out before he could overthink it.

 

Tony blinked at him, then gave a muffled laugh.  “ _That’s_ what you took from all of that?” he asked, irritation fading away into amusement.  “That I can play the piano?  No comments about the fact that I’m sitting her singing a depressingly sappy love song?”

 

Steve shrugged.  “I draw pictures of dancing monkeys,” he pointed out.  “You didn’t laugh about that.”  And he hadn’t.  He had laughed instead about the fact that Steve thought there he could actually keep a secret from him.  Tony thought about that for a moment before conceding the point with a shrug.

 

Steve moved closer, watching Tony watch him.  Tony’s eyes swept over him, taking in his rumpled, battered appearance.  The new uniform had held up surprisingly well under the stress, however, and Steve could tell that Tony was pleased with his handiwork.

 

“Would you…play it again?” Steve asked softly, not entirely sure what he was actually asking.  Tony’s eyes snapped back up to his meet his suspiciously, as if he was trying to figure out the trick behind Steve’s request.  The soldier met his gaze calmly, openly, and Tony sighed after a moment, turning back to face the piano.

 

“JARVIS, nobody else gets within hearing distance without my knowing,” he ordered.

 

 _“Of course, sir,”_ JARVIS agreed smoothly, making Steve wonder if the AI hadn’t conveniently _forgotten_ to inform Tony of his own approach.  Tony rolled his eyes, confirming Steve’s suspicions.

 

Slowly, tentatively, Tony’s fingers moved again, playing the song from the beginning.  He quickly grew more assured, the sound and motions growing stronger.  Steve settled on the floor, his back pressed against the side of the bench where Tony sat.  As Tony’s smooth baritone rose with the music, Steve let his eyes close.

 

As he nodded off, Steve realized just how long it had been since someone had sung to him, for him.  It was nice, he decided.

 

Steve wasn’t aware of the moment Tony stopped singing, nor did he wake up when Thor moved him to the settee.  Instead, he slept soundly for the first time since he’d awoken from the ice.  And he dreamed, not of ice or war or death.  Instead, he dreamed of his mother, and a song heard long, long ago.  He dreamed of a best friend and a pretty gal, both of them equally precious to him.  He dreamed of laughter, and promises, and kisses shared in the dark of the night.

 

Steve Rogers dreamed of love.

**Author's Note:**

> *German lyrics (song 2 & 4) taken from here: http://german.about.com/library/blmus_kinderBackeK.htm  
> *Lyrics to Brahm’s Lullaby (song 5): http://www.lullaby-link.com/brahms-lullaby.html  
> *Lyrics to I’m Already There by Lonestar: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/lonestar/imalreadythere.html


End file.
